


Put Your Arms Around Me (And I'm Home)

by MoonytheMarauder1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Blind Character, Blind!Percy Weasley, Dancing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Bonding, Football, Football | Soccer, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned injuries, Pineapple pizza, Queen - Freeform, Reconciliation, Referenced Car Crash, Roommates, Sharing a Bed, Singing in the Shower, Texting, discussion of amputation (doesn't happen), it's delicious fight me, nothing graphic i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25580623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonytheMarauder1/pseuds/MoonytheMarauder1
Summary: Percy never thought he needed anyone, but then Oliver Wood came along and showed him that letting someone into his life didn't have to be a bad thing.
Relationships: Bill Weasley & Percy Weasley, Charlie Weasley & Percy Weasley, Fred Weasley & Percy Weasley, Percy Weasley & Weasley Family, Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood
Comments: 11
Kudos: 229





	Put Your Arms Around Me (And I'm Home)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all! So... I've not been good about posting anything this month, whoops. Or replying to comments (I'm trying to be better about them, I promise!). Just know that I love each and every one of you. *kisses*
> 
> Please note: I am not an athlete. I am not a doctor. Please suspend belief. Also, I've done a lot of research about blindness, but as always please correct me if something is amiss. :)
> 
> Read the tags, babes. Stay safe!

Percy woke to the sound of birds chirping. 

It wasn’t an unpleasant way to be woken, all things considered, but today wasn’t a usual day. It was, Percy remembered with no small amount of distaste, was the day his roommate would be moving in. 

He sat up and stretched, arching his back in an effort to clear his head from the heaviness of sleep. He wasn’t looking forward to the day, but he recognized that he needed to split the rent with someone—and Oliver Wood, though a stranger, had been the best candidate. 

At least, Percy thought wryly as he threw off the duvet and got to his feet, he was about seventy percent sure he’d be able to stand him. 

Percy walked into the kitchen, so used to the path by now that he didn’t need his cane. He went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, wondering if he should call one of his brothers this morning. Bill and Charlie had both expressed concern about his silence over the past few months, but honestly, Percy was relishing his independence. And anyway, his workaholic tendencies hadn’t brought him any closer to his family. 

He hesitated, his hand hovering over his phone, which was charging innocently on the counter. After a moment, he decided to just shoot Bill a simple text:  _ Morning. Hope Fleur and Victoire are doing well. My new roommate is moving in today, so I’ll be busy helping him. _

Short and to the point: perfect. He knew his eldest brother would pass the message on to the rest of the Weasley clan. 

Percy set his phone down, expecting that to be the last of it, but to his slight surprise, a reply was sent almost immediately:  _ Good morning! Fleur is doing well, thanks, though she’s sick of the morning sickness already. Victoire is much the same—very happy to have a sibling on the way. I didn’t know someone was moving in with you! Do you want me to come over to help move his stuff into the flat? _

Percy pressed his lips together as he listened to the text. He knew Bill meant well—Bill never  _ tried _ to impose—but Percy preferred his affairs private. He didn’t need his brother coming over for every little thing. 

_ I can handle it, thanks. You should stay with your family.  _

Another immediate reply.  _ If you’re sure. I just worry about you, Perce. You’ve moved so far away, and we hardly hear from you anymore, what with your new job. Sometimes I think you’re not really very happy. _

Just for a moment, Percy debated ending the conversation there; Bill would take the hint. But he had to admit that that wasn’t fair to his brother, so he sighed and answered… even if he ignored Bill’s last statement.

_ I know. I’ll try to get away soon. _

It wasn’t the answer Bill wanted to hear, he knew—and he was aware that it was the same promise he’d been making since he’d moved to the city. Percy waited several minutes for a response, battling his guilt all the while, and was just about to put the phone down when he heard a ping. 

_ Okay. _

Percy shut off his phone.

A few minutes passed in silence. He realized that he’d left his teabag in for a while, so he quickly took it out and finished making his drink. Other than the sounds of his movements, the flat was silent; he tried not to think about how noisy it might get when Oliver moved in. He tried not to think about the messes Oliver might leave around the place, about the well-meaning remarks he might drop that were actually offensive, about—

Percy stopped his line of thought. That was the worst-case scenario, he reminded himself. He was judging Oliver before he’d even properly met him, which wasn’t fair. 

Letting out another sigh, Percy wracked his brain for something to do—something distracting. He had time to kill before Oliver arrived. 

Like usual, his books called to him. He walked over to his bookshelf and plucked  _ The Fellowship of the Rings _ from its place; it was familiar in his touch and brought him comfort. It was the first book his father had given him that hadn’t belonged to either Bill or Charlie first, and that simple fact made it special to Percy. That, and the story was simply incredible. 

Settling down in an armchair, Percy opted out of breakfast and began reading.

* * *

The hours flew by. Percy didn’t realize how late it was until he heard a notification from his phone; He checked it and realized that Oliver was on his way. 

Percy took a deep breath. Everything would be fine. Everything would be  _ fine _ . 

Not fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at his door. Percy waited a moment before answering, not wanting to appear like he’d been awaiting Oliver’s arrival. 

He opened the door and frowned slightly. “Oliver Wood?” he asked, his voice slow and clear. 

“Yep, that’s me,” a cheery voice answered. “You’re Percy, yes? I’m really  _ rubbish _ at names.”

Percy’s shoulders relaxed just a bit. “Yes, that’s right.” He hesitated. “Do you need any help bringing your things up?”

“Nah—most of it will be arriving tomorrow. I only have a few boxes to bring up today, and I could use the workout.”

Percy nodded slowly. Then, realizing that Oliver was still standing in the doorway, he stepped aside and gestured for the other man to come inside. “Your room’s this way,” he said, leading the way into the flat. 

Oliver followed behind and shut the door. Percy gave a quick tour as they went along (living room, kitchen, bathroom) until they reached the spare room. 

Percy leaned against the door jam, looking in Oliver’s direction; he could feel the other man’s presence a few footsteps away. “I’d like to take this time to remind you that there are a few rules you need to follow.” He paused, listening for any noise of protest, but Oliver was listening attentively. 

So Percy took a breath and continued. “Don’t move the furniture. Pick up after yourself when you’re outside your room. Don’t move my things around.” Percy lifted a brow. “I’ll know.”

There was a moment of silence. He assumed Oliver was nodding; he’d found that it took time for people to remember that he needed verbal confirmation. And sure enough, Oliver blurted out, “Oh, I’m sorry—yes. Yes, I’ll make sure not to do those things.”

There was a note of embarrassment in his voice, but Percy waved his concern aside. 

“I’ll be working in my room,” he told Oliver. “I’m an editor; I do most of my work at home. If you change your mind about the boxes, let me know.”

“I will,” Oliver promised, and he sounded sincere enough. Percy hummed in response and turned to go into his room; he felt like he’d been sociable enough for one day. 

Percy sat on his bed and pulled out his laptop, opening up to the manuscript he was currently editing. He inhaled deeply, trying to get into the right mindset. It was a little more difficult to lose himself in his work than usual when he could hear Oliver shuffling about the flat, but Percy just clenched his jaw and tried to focus on his work. 

He had a feeling that this would take some getting used to.

* * *

Percy Weasley intrigued Oliver. 

The moment he’d first walked through the flat after seeing the ad online, Oliver had fallen in love with the pebble-grey walls and the simple, sparse decor. There was something charming about the place, and it was in the perfect location: near both his football practice and his job. The fact that he’d be splitting the rent didn’t hurt, either. 

He’d met with Percy a few times before moving in, mostly to see if they’d be able to stand each other. He knew the other man was an editor who worked from home, that he was very particular about his routine, and that he believed everything had its place. 

Just from texting him, Oliver deduced that Percy Weasley was also one of the most intelligent, sharp-tongued people he’d ever meet. 

But it wasn’t until their first meeting face-to-face that Oliver realized Percy was blind. 

The taller, red-haired man had walked into the Leaky Cauldron with straight-backed confidence, but Oliver’s eyes were still drawn to the cane sweeping in an arc in front of him. He’d been surprised, but he made sure to announce himself to the other man when one of the pub’s employees directed Percy towards him. 

Percy was Oliver’s opposite in appearance: he was tall and thin, while Oliver had a stronger build. Percy’s eyes were blue, Oliver’s were brown. Freckles covered Percy’s nose and cheekbones, his fingers were long and thin, his red curls were short on the sides and longer on top—

His immediate attraction to Percy didn’t make their first meeting go smoothly at all. Oliver stumbled over his words, and he was fairly sure that he’d talked about himself way too much—he couldn’t help it, though. He talked when he was nervous and talked when there were silences, and Percy only seemed willing to interject where absolutely necessary. Oliver left the pub that day certain he’d put his foot in his mouth sometime during their conversation. 

To his surprise, however, Percy informed him that evening by text that he’d be willing to share his space with Oliver. 

Now, Oliver was carrying his things up to the flat. Part of him was excited about finally having a place of his own—or partly his own—and part of him was terrified that he’d mess this up somehow. 

Percy had seemed distant, which made Oliver just a bit nervous. 

Once all his boxes were in his room, Oliver stood back and debated what to do next. He wondered if Percy would be opposed to getting a bite to eat together; a sort of small celebration. 

Deciding to take the chance, Oliver walked over to the other man’s room and knocked on the door. After a second, it opened to reveal Percy, whose eyes were trained over Oliver’s left shoulder. “Yes?”

Oliver stuck his hands in his pockets, suddenly overcome with a childlike nervousness. “I was just wondering if you’d like to grab a bite,” he said in a too-cheerful tone. He winced at how unnatural it sounded, even to his own ears. 

Percy’s brow furrowed. “Thank you for the invitation, but I have work to do here.”

“Ah.” Oliver cleared his throat and ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair. “I could order in?”

But the other man was shaking his head. “No, you go on ahead. Don’t change your plans for my sake.”

Blinking in surprise, Oliver was about to clarify that he didn’t  _ have _ plans, he was trying to create them, when Percy shut the door in his face. 

He just stood there gaping for a moment before turning around with a huff. If Percy wanted to be standoffish, fine; he wouldn’t press the issue. He grabbed his phone and walked into the kitchen, dialing a number for delivery. He didn’t order anything for Percy.

When the food came, Oliver tipped generously—because why the hell not?—and took his plate into the kitchen to eat. Switching on the telly, Oliver flipped through the stations until he found the end of a football match. All in all, it wasn’t a horrible evening.

Remembering Percy’s requests, Oliver cleaned up after himself, making sure to put everything back in its place. Then he decided to call it an early night. 

Before he went to bed, though, he shot a quick text to Angelina. She’d been his closest friend for years, and he knew she’d want to know how his first day had gone. 

_ Before you ask, today was fine. Percy’s an interesting bloke. _

It was only a few minutes later that he got a reply. 

_ Yes, I know one of his brothers. He’s supposed to be incredibly smart. And uptight. _

Oliver surprised himself by coming to Percy’s defense, even as he raised his brows—he hadn’t known that Angelina knew Percy’s family. 

_ It’s just the first day. He doesn’t seem uptight, just… reserved.  _ Oliver hesitated, reading the message again. Was it true? Percy didn’t seem particularly welcoming, but Oliver hadn’t felt any real hostility during their meetings. Perhaps he just preferred to be alone. 

_ Well, George has been known to exaggerate. How’s your day been, then? Have you unpacked at all? _

The answer was no, but Oliver wasn’t about to admit that to Angelina. He sucked in a breath and sent a reply.  _ Yes. _

_ Nice try.  _

Their conversation lasted a few more minutes, during which Oliver assured Angelina that he would make himself useful tomorrow and unpack (so he didn’t have unopened boxes six months from now), and assured her that he would visit on the weekend (as if he and Angelina wouldn’t see each other at work before then). 

When Oliver finally set his phone down and went to bed, it was with the optimism that tomorrow would be better than today.

* * *

The next morning, Percy awoke rather abruptly. For a moment he just lied in bed, wondering why he’d been ripped so suddenly from unconsciousness, but then he realized: he could smell something cooking. 

_ Oliver _ , he reminded himself. Oliver must be awake. 

Percy stood up and stretched, then walked over to his closet. He counted the steps there more out of habit than of necessity. Percy felt along the wall until his fingers brushed the cool, soft material of his bathrobe. He shrugged it on and then headed out into the kitchen, muttering a hello to Oliver when the other man—who was apparently a  _ morning person _ —chirped a greeting. 

“Would you like some eggs?” Oliver asked, his voice light; he seemed to harbor no ill feelings for the way Percy had treated him last night, which, Percy admitted with a growing sense of guilt, had been a bit rude. “I’ve made plenty of them.”

Biting his lip, Percy debated for a moment. On the one hand, making breakfast was part of his routine; it helped wake him up and got him going. On the other hand, Oliver hadn’t done anything wrong, and Percy really  _ should _ extend some sort of olive branch. 

“Sure,” he decided. “Thank you.”

He heard Oliver laugh, and something in Percy’s chest warmed at the carefree sound. “It’s no trouble! I’m already at the stove, aren’t I?”

Percy conceded him that point, then busied himself by checking his email on his mobile. Not five minutes later, Percy felt something brush against his shoulder; he jumped, startled, and realized that he’d been so absorbed in  _ not _ paying attention to Oliver that he hadn’t even heard the man approach. 

“Sorry!” Oliver quickly backtracked, sounding apologetic. “I should have warned you, I just—” 

He stopped himself, but Percy knew what he’d been about to say.  _ Forgot _ . 

And that was okay. That was okay, because it was Oliver’s first day and it was preferable to being treated like he was helpless. 

“That’s all right,” he said quietly. He tried to smile gently, but he wasn’t sure if it looked any less stiff than it felt on his face. “Just let me know when you put something in front of me.”

“I’m sorry,” Oliver said again, sounding miserable. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

And now he was over apologizing. Percy cleared his throat. “I said it’s fine. Thank you for the food.”

That was that. He was perfectly happy with leaving the conversation there, awkward silence be damned. Oliver was going to make mistakes, he told himself. The thing Percy cared about was that he was trying. 

Just then, Percy’s phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. “I have to take this,” he informed Oliver before standing up and hurrying out of the kitchen. 

Never before had he been so glad to get a call from Bill. 

Percy shut himself in his room before accepting the call. “Bill?”

“Hey, Percy.” There was unbridled enthusiasm coloring his older brother’s voice, and Percy raised a brow in quiet confusion. “How are you doing this fine day? How’s your new roommate?”

Percy considered the question for a moment. “Terrified of doing something wrong,” he said at last. It was the truth, and it made Percy antsy. 

“Ah.” Bill was more sympathetic now, and Percy bit his lip when he realized he’d dampened Bill’s good mood. “That happens, I suppose. But if you need to spend a few hours with someone who really doesn’t care if they do the wrong thing—”

“I’ll be sure to call you,” Percy finished dryly; his brothers never treated him delicately, which was a double-edged sword. “What had you in such a good mood this morning?”

“Oh, you know,” Bill replied loftily, “Fleur and I just found out the gender of the baby.”

“You did?” Percy’s interest was piqued. “Well? What is it?”

“Another girl.” Pride resonated in Bill’s voice, and Percy felt a grin stretch over his face at the news. “Fleur is so pleased! Victoire is thrilled.”

“So am I,” Percy told his brother. “Fred owes me ten quid.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Bill said, amusement choking his voice, “I really shouldn’t be surprised that you two bet on this.”

“You really shouldn’t be.”

They talked for a bit longer, about the baby, about Percy’s job—about the visit Percy kept promising to make. 

“I have to admit, I’m sort of surprised you took this call.” Bill paused, then continued quietly, “You’ve been so distant lately. Family is the most important thing in the world, you know?”

Percy shifted uncomfortably. “I know.” He hesitated. “I’m working on it.” 

“Yeah.” Disappointment—and a lot of it. “I know.”

There was no bite to Bill’s voice, but Percy felt chastised all the same. He wondered how he could salvage the call, but eventually came to the conclusion that short of showing up on Bill’s doorstep, he couldn’t heal this hurt. 

“I have a lot of work to do,” Percy defended himself. “A lot to sort out.” It was a feeble excuse. “It’s not like I’m  _ alone _ ,” he blurted out, because that was the real issue. It was always a fear of his siblings’, that he was unhappy. That he was lonely.

“Aren’t you?” 

Percy winced at the question. “I have all of London to keep me company,” he muttered. “And… books.”

A beat. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Percy swallowed. “...I’m joking?”

“Percy.” Bill sounded desperate, like he was seriously concerned for his brother—and Percy didn’t want that concern. “Books aren’t company. Do you even like it there?”

“Of course I do,” Percy snapped. “I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t.” He tried to fight down his anger, but he just didn’t understand why Bill didn’t trust him with his own feelings. He was Percy Weasley: he was well put-together. He knew who he was and what he wanted. He strove towards and accomplished every goal.

If there was a gaping hole in his chest he couldn’t figure out how to fill, well, Bill didn’t need to get involved.

“I have to go now,” Percy lied, and when he hung up, Bill didn’t try to get a hold of him again. Percy waited on his bed for a text or call, but… there was nothing. 

He laced his fingers together and squeezed. Breathe. All he had to do was breathe and try  _ not _ to think about how he was pushing away the last person who honestly wanted to know how he was doing. 

A knock on the door shook him back to the present. “Yes?”

“Hey, uh…” Oliver’s hesitant voice was slightly muffled by the door. “I wanted to remind you about breakfast? It’s getting cold. And I’ll be leaving for training soon.”

Right. Percy took a breath and walked over to the door, opening it and giving Oliver a chance to back away. “Thank you.” 

Percy walked out on the now-clear path, heading back towards the kitchen. He knew Oliver was following him, and he straightened his spine; he needed to look like he was fine. He didn’t need Oliver, who was practically a stranger, to realize that he was…

He didn’t know what he was. 

“Who were you talking to?”

The question was simply curious, but Percy bristled all the same. “My brother,” he replied curtly. The muscles in his back and shoulders were tense, making it clear that the conversation was over.

A few minutes passed in silence, and then Percy heard Oliver walk towards the door. It opened, then closed, leaving Percy alone. 

Why did it make him feel so empty?

* * *

Oliver didn’t go to the gym.

He went for a jog. The morning air was cool and the sky promised rain soon, but Oliver wasn’t deterred; he could run through this park in any weather—he could do it with his eyes closed, if he wanted!

He needed a place where he could think, and this was it: sweating and breathing heavily as his feet hit the pavement. His legs were burning—so maybe he wasn’t quite  _ jogging _ —but he lived for this adrenaline. It kept him thinking about other things, things that weren’t tall men in denim-blue jackets, men who were so intriguingly aloof—

Oliver stumbled to an abrupt stop, resting his hands on his knees and breathing heavily. His heart was beating out a rhythm that his brain couldn’t keep up with. Why did he want so desperately to be noticed by Percy? Why was it so difficult to get past the walls the other man had put up? 

Why did he care so much about someone he hadn’t known for long?   


Oliver looked around, taking in the early morning gloom. The park was practically empty, and he knew he should be getting to training soon… 

He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at the roots and tipping his head towards the sky. 

“Wood,” he muttered to the heavens, “get yourself together. You will not be distracted by a bloke of all things.”

But he was. His head wasn’t in the game, training felt suddenly secondary, and he felt disjointed as a result. Football had always come first. Now, though… he had a different desire. 

A sudden thought struck him: Why  _ shouldn’t  _ Percy like him? He was a good bloke. He was fit, and kind, and a little barmy sometimes, but still… he was worthy of Percy Weasley’s attention. 

All he had to do, Oliver reasoned, was get to know the other man. The rest would come with time. And if it didn’t work, he’ll have gained a friend in the process. 

It was far from a perfect plan, but Oliver was determined nonetheless. He had to do  _ something _ . 

Oliver Wood was a man of action. He would not pine. He would not accept defeat. 

It was that thought that carried him through the day. He didn’t even realize, but Oliver spent the day creating a game plan in the back of his mind: He’d be kind to Percy every time they encountered each other. He’d keep the conversation light and flowing. He’d learn about the other man’s habits, and he’d adapt. 

He’d be the best damn roommate in the history of roommates. 

It was with this plan in mind that Oliver walked back to the flat that evening. 

He opened the door and called out a greeting to Percy before putting his things in their proper place—he was half-terrified that he’d accidentally trip the other man by leaving his things around carelessly, so that was one rule he didn’t need to put much effort into remembering. 

Oliver walked over to the telly and switched it on; Manchester was playing, and Oliver didn’t want to miss a second of it. He grabbed his phone to order a pizza and walked over to Percy’s bedroom door. His footsteps slowed as he approached, remembering how curt Percy had been that morning, but determination replaced hesitation. He wasn’t going to scare away from this. No matter how prickly Percy was, he’d endure it. 

“Hello?”

Oliver heard the muffled voice of whatever computer aid Percy used to do his editing switch off. A few seconds later, the door opened to reveal Percy, his eyes trained above Oliver’s left shoulder. 

“Yes?”

Oliver cleared his throat and ignored his sudden desire to run his hands through Percy’s tousled red curls. “I was wondering if you’d like to watch the game with me tonight? As a sorry for this morning.” He paused. “Manchester is playing.”

Percy tilted his head to the side as he regarded Oliver. Several moments passed, and Oliver was certain that his invitation was going to be refused—or worse, ignored. 

But to his surprise, neither thing happened. “Sure,” Percy acquiesced. “I suppose I can do that.”

“Brilliant!” Oliver clapped his hands together, beaming. “I have pizza on the way. You sit down and I’ll switch on the match.”

Percy dipped his head in a nod and began walking into the sitting room, slowly at first, but then faster once he realized that Oliver wasn’t in his way. 

Grinning from ear to ear, Oliver jaunted into the kitchen, grabbed some plates, and then prepared them once the pizza had been delivered. Then, because he felt like it, Oliver began preparing beans on toast; not the greatest meal to go along with pizza, but he was in the mood. 

From the sitting room, the telly was playing an advert. Oliver hummed along to the familiar jingle, then, getting into it, grabbed a broom and spun around the kitchen, forgetting for a moment that he wasn’t alone.

* * *

Thumping drew Percy’s attention. He frowned sharply, wondering what Oliver could be doing in the kitchen, and walked over to investigate. He could feel vibrations in the floor against his bare feet as he approached, could hear humming, and then felt bristles brush against his leg. 

He smothered a smile. It was so  _ odd _ —Oliver was dancing with the broom. 

Percy leaned against the door jam, confident that his presence hadn’t been noticed yet. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a bit weird?”

The words slipped out of his mouth before he could really consider them, surprising both him and Oliver. The other man yelped and stumbled into the counter. Percy’s eyes widened slightly—he wasn’t sure if Oliver had hurt himself—but after a beat of silence, the footballer burst out laughing. 

“It’s come up, yeah,” Oliver told him between chuckles, having seemingly no problem with laughing at himself. Percy hid a small smile; Oliver was no ordinary person—that much was clear. 

Dragging a hand through his hair, Percy turned to walk back into the sitting room, but Oliver’s voice stopped him. 

“Oh, wait—one of my shoes is in the way. Erm, about two strides forward?”

Percy blinked, surprised that Oliver had thought to take note of that. Most sighted people wouldn’t have thought to let him know. He nodded his thanks and shifted towards the right, keeping one hand near the wall just in case the shoe was sticking out more than Oliver thought. He walked to the sitting room without further problems, and found himself reevaluating his opinions about Oliver.

Several minutes later, he was sitting on the sofa, still pondering, and was only a little startled when Oliver blundered into the room. The sofa cushion dipped as the other man sat heavily beside Percy, and Oliver let out a small noise of distress. 

“I’ve missed the first few minutes! What’s been happening? Oh—here’s your plate, by the way.”

Percy took the plate of food Oliver had nudged his hand with, offering a small smile of thanks. Truthfully, though, he hadn’t the faintest clue what had been going on. 

“They’ve kicked the ball,” he informed Oliver in a deadpan, picking up his slice of pizza and sinking his teeth into the cheesy goodness. 

His statement was followed by silence, and Percy wondered if Oliver was annoyed with him—or worse, offended by his total lack of interest in the game—but then a booming laugh echoed about the flat, making Percy jump and nearly choke on his bite of pizza. 

“You do have a sense of humor!” Oliver gasped out, sounding delighted. “I wasn’t sure for a minute!”

Percy wrinkled his nose. “A very poor one, I’m told.”

“Nah.” An arm settled over Percy's shoulders, but the weight was strangely comforting. He didn’t try to squirm away, in any case. “It’s just underappreciated.”

Sincere—that was the only way Percy could describe the other man’s tone. Percy felt himself flush, unused to compliments, but couldn’t help but feel pleased. There was something about this that he really, really liked.

Then he felt hair tickling his face, and he realized with a jolt that Oliver had laid his head against Percy’s shoulder. It wasn’t horrible. 

Percy shifted just a bit closer, leaning into Oliver’s touch. Just for tonight… he’d let his guard down just for tonight.

He didn’t understand a word of the game, but he enjoyed it nonetheless.

* * *

Weeks went by. Percy found himself noticing little things about Oliver: he had a nice laugh, he enjoyed doing the washing up, the calluses on his hands were fascinating, and he was absolutely obsessed with  _ Queen _ . It was strange how accustomed he’d become to another person’s presence in his personal life; ever since he’d moved out of his family home, he’d been a one-man show. But somehow, all of Oliver’s quirks had shifted from annoying to endearing.

He didn’t think too hard on it. Part of him knew why that was, and it wasn’t a conversation he was ready to have with himself. 

Percy was learning new things about himself, too. He learned that he liked listening to Oliver sing  _ Bohemian Rhapsody  _ in the shower every morning, even if the high notes sounded horrible; he learned that he liked it when Oliver nudged his calf with sock-clad feet when he wanted Percy to make room on the sofa; he learned that he both loved and feared this new attraction. 

But he was  _ happy _ . He was beginning to wonder if his family had been right; perhaps this journey of self-discovery hadn’t brought him the happiness he thought it would. 

Or maybe it was simply that Oliver had always been the missing piece. 

He did, however, question his new assessment when he let Oliver drag him to his football practice. 

It was freezing out, and Percy was still shivering in his thick woolen jumper. His face felt a bit numb, but he could hear the men on the team training rigorously. Beside Percy on the bench was an energetic man by the name of Lee Jordan; he insisted on commentating the practice for Percy, insisting that he’d be “bored out of your bloody mind otherwise, mate.”

Lee Jordan. The name was familiar, and it took Percy a moment to place him as one of the boys Fred and George had shared a dorm with in school. He wondered what the younger man was doing at Oliver’s football practice, but decided not to question it. 

He enjoyed having the company, and he enjoyed being there for Oliver. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had invited him somewhere just to have him there (he sometimes thought that his family was only trying to keep in touch  _ because _ he was their family). 

Lee was bouncing his leg with excitement; his movement shook Percy’s seat. “It’s an exciting game, don’t you think?” Lee was excited, Percy could tell. About what, he wasn’t sure. “And Oliver’s a great player, eh?”

There was a playful lilt to Lee’s voice, which gave Percy pause. “So you’ve told me,” he answered with a hum. “He certainly loves it.”

That elicited a laugh from Lee. “Does he talk your ear off about it, too? What am I saying—of course he does.”

Their conversation carried on for a few more minutes, and then Percy’s attention was redirected to Oliver, who shouted his name as he ran over. 

Strong, muscled arms wrapped around Percy, and he wrinkled his nose and gently pushed against the other man’s chest. “You’re sweaty,” he informed Oliver, trying not to grin. “You’ll be showering as soon as we’re home.”

_ Home _ . That’s what the flat had become to the both of them, hadn’t it? A home. 

Oliver’s answering laugh made Percy relax. He let the shorter man take his hand and lead him off the bleachers, muttering a quick farewell to Lee. Percy and Oliver made their way to Oilver’s car, and Percy waited patiently while Oliver threw all of his gear into the trunk. 

And then they were driving. Percy rested his head against the back of the seat, breathing in deeply. Sunglasses sat on his face, protecting his light-sensitive eyes, but he could feel the beginnings of a sunburn itching his cheekbones. He would normally have been extremely annoyed by this, but he couldn’t be bothered to be anything but happy today. 

Oliver really had changed things.

“Thanks for coming to practice,” Oliver said a few minutes into the drive. “I know you’re not the biggest fan of the game and that Lee is a bit much sometimes, but it means a lot to me that you came.”

“Sure.” Percy smiled and shrugged. “You’re incredible. You really are.” He paused. “I don’t even have to see the game to realize that.”

“That’s—that’s really nice of you.” Oliver sounded flustered, but pleased. “Thanks, Percy.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, and Percy realized that this… he could spend the rest of his life like this. 

The thought immediately made him tense with panic. He’d struggled for so long to stay unattached, to not have to rely on anyone—to avoid opening up to anyone—for so long… But Oliver had changed all that. 

Percy didn’t want to be vulnerable to anyone. And yet… 

He sucked in a breath. He didn’t owe Oliver any of his past or insecurities; he could just be happy in the present, couldn’t he?

It was that thought that prompted him to reach out and put a hand on Oliver’s shoulder, his shirt still sweat-dampened. He kept his voice as steady and nonchalant as possible, even as a flush rose to his cheeks. 

“Oliver,” he said quietly, “I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me tonight.”

He felt Oliver’s muscles tighten under his fingers. “Go out? Go out how?”

Percy smothered a smirk. “Like a date,” he clarified. “I’d like to go on a date with you.”

“I—shit, Percy, I’m driving and this conversation is distracting. Yes. I want to go on a date with you.” A glorious, joy-ridden laugh escaped Oliver’s throat. “Funny, I thought I’d be the one asking you that question.”

_ Right. _ Percy snorted. “Well, you were too slow about it, weren’t you?”

“That’s Percy Weasley, all right,” Oliver said softly, quietly awed. “One step ahead of everyone else.”

One of Oliver’s hands ruffled Percy’s red curls, and a warmth unlike any Percy had ever known spread through him. He felt  _ seen _ and  _ heard _ and was suddenly overwhelmed with the knowledge that Oliver  _ liked _ him. 

“What should we have for dinner, then?” Oliver asked; Percy could hear the smile in his voice. “Italian? Indian? Chinese?” 

Smothering a laugh, Percy shook his head. “Wherever you want.”

“Mmm, you may regret that by the end of the night.”

And Percy  _ laughed _ . He fondly gave Oliver’s shoulder a squeeze, feeling anxious about this new development, but mostly excited. Thrilled, even. 

He could do this. 

His phone vibrated in his lap; he had a call. Still grinning, Percy patted Oliver’s shoulder apologetically and took the call. 

Bill’s voice answered as soon as he picked up. 

And it was shaking.

_ “Percy—you have to come home. Fred’s in the hospital, he’s hurt, and we’re not sure—the doctors aren’t sure—” _

Percy’s mobile fell to the floor of the car.

* * *

Oliver couldn’t hear the conversation, but he heard Percy’s choked gasp and watched the mobile fall. 

His brown eyes widened as he glanced between the road and his—roommate? Boyfriend?—growing increasingly concerned. Percy’s eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but Oliver could see the blood draining away from his face. 

“Percy?” he tried, wincing at the alarm in his voice. “Are you all right?”

“I…” Percy’s hands shook as he bent over, his shaking fingers skimming against the floor as he searched for his fallen mobile. Oliver quickly looked around for it, then grabbed it and pressed it into Percy’s hands. 

Lifting it to his ear, Percy continued the conversation. “What happened?” Oliver heard him ask. There was a muffled answer, and then Percy demanded, “Text me the address. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Oliver’s stomach sank. Something told him they’d be cancelling their date tonight. 

Percy hung up, looking shaken. Deciding that he was officially too distracted to drive, Oliver pulled over and then turned to the other man. “Percy,” he said in a low voice, “what’s the matter?”

Percy pulled off the sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fred’s been hurt,” he all but groaned. “I can’t—I can’t afford a plane ticket.” 

Those words were filled with horror, and Oliver’s chest constricted at this clear sign of Percy’s distress. He swallowed thickly. “Where do you need to go?”

Home was the answer. But not to their flat; near Percy’s childhood home, at the hospital. It would take nearly a day to drive there by car, and it was already late in the evening. And if Percy couldn’t afford a plane…

A small  _ bing _ broke through the silence; the address Percy had requested, Oliver assumed. He eyed Percy, saw the way the other man shook with suppressed sobs and panic, and determination set in. 

“Tell me the address,” he commanded. “I’ll drive you there. We’ll go now.”

“W-what?” Brows rose in Oliver’s direction. “It’s so far away, and you’re still in your old clothes—it’s almost night—”

“It’s no trouble.” His tone booked no room for argument, and even though Percy looked like he wanted to argue, he gave in. Oliver put the address into the GPS and then they were rolling. 

He was still a sweaty mess, they hadn’t had dinner, and he was tired from practice. But Oliver drove dutifully through the entire night, stopping only when necessary, and encouraged Percy to take a few quick naps throughout. He tried to ignore how Percy rearranged the odds and ends in the car anxiously when he was awake: the empty coffee cups that Oliver hadn’t thrown away yet, old CDs, random bits of paper. He tried to give Percy space. 

But maybe that wasn’t what Percy needed. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” Percy hoarsely told him at one point. The night was black around them, and only a few stars dotted the sky. “This is… too much, Oliver.”

“It’s not,” Oliver said firmly. “I promise you, it’s not. I  _ want _ to do this.”

His statement was met with silence. Then Percy, his usually self-assured voice shaky and strained, blurted out, “I haven’t spoken to Fred in over a year.”

Ah. So that was what was eating him. “Why not?” Oliver asked slowly—cautiously. 

“We didn’t get on.” Percy’s hands were clasped tightly in his lap, his breathing very carefully controlled. “I didn’t… I wasn’t really like my siblings. Fred and George were always my polar opposites.”

Oliver wasn’t stupid enough to assume that this information was given lightly. He didn’t have any siblings of his own, but he’d had a few cousins he’d seen from time to time growing up; they were all extremely competitive. He knew that he and the twins had a mutual friend—Angelina—but that was all he really knew about them. 

“I’m much more serious than my family,” Percy told him dully. “I cared about school more. I didn’t take part in their practical jokes. I got a  _ boring, dull  _ job and had the nerve to like it.”

“I don’t think your job is dull—"

Percy held up a hand to silence him. “My point is that we were like oil and water. They liked to tease, and so when I left home… I just pulled away. Bill and my parents are the only ones who try to keep in touch.” He hesitated. “And now Fred might not… he might not…”

“Hey.” Oliver reached out and took one of Percy’s hands in his. He fished around for something to say, anything that wasn’t an empty promise, but he came up blank. He swallowed thickly. “We’ll get there. You’ll see him."

“No…” There was so much self-loathing in that tone that Oliver frowned. “They don’t know how serious the injuries are yet. He’s not… he isn’t in danger of dying.” Percy’s voice was dry. “But I really don’t want to be reunited over a tragedy.”

There was nothing he could say to that. What words of comfort could he possibly give? The best he could do, Oliver realized, was be there. He squeezed Percy’s hand and kept driving; it was lucky the roads were empty, because his focus lied elsewhere. 

“What happened?” he asked softly, his brow furrowed. He almost didn’t expect Percy to answer—they’d been ready for a date hours earlier, yes, but that didn’t mean that Oliver was suddenly fit to be the other man’s confidant. 

Percy did answer, though, albeit in a whisper. “Car accident. He might…” A shudder wracked Percy’s body, and Oliver felt his heart break just a little. “He might lose his arm.”

“He’ll be alive,” Oliver pointed out weakly. Percy flinched, though, and Oliver knew it had been the wrong thing to say. He cursed. “I didn’t mean—I—”

“I know what you meant. You’re right, it could have been much worse, but…”

“No,” Oliver interrupted, guilt flooding his features, “you’re allowed to feel how you feel. I didn’t mean to minimize this, just… comfort you. But I’ve not done that, have I? Shit.”

To his surprise—and immense relief, because his embarrassment had been reaching previously unknown heights—Percy’s lips twitched into a weak smile as he heard Oliver’s clumsy apology.

“I know,” he said hoarsely. “You don’t know how happy that makes me.” He paused, then said, “You don’t know how happy  _ you _ make me.”

At those words, Oliver’s brown eyes started burning as this—this  _ emotion _ overwhelmed him. Was it love? He wasn’t sure yet. All he knew was that he wanted to hang on to the man beside him; hang on and never let go. 

“You make me happy, too,” he whispered, but Percy was already asleep.

Early the next morning, they reached the farm where Percy had grown up. Oliver was exhausted—beyond exhausted, really—but he grinned all the same as his beat up car made its way down the Weasleys’ driveway. They’d be staying in the farmhouse with the rest of the family, taking shifts at Fred’s bedside. 

Percy’s mother—Molly, Oliver recalled—greeted them at the door. “Boys,” she gasped out when she saw them, tears in her brown eyes, “it’s so good to see you! Percy, dear, let me take those bags—and you must be Oliver.”

The Weasley matriarch suddenly turned her full attention to Oliver, even as she enveloped her son in a fierce hug. “Thank you so much for driving Percy here,” she said to him, pulling Percy even tighter to herself; Percy looked mildly embarrassed by the prolonged affection, but his hands came up to awkwardly return the hug. Molly continued, “It really was so sweet of you, dear. But I bet you’re both exhausted! Come in, please…”

Percy was released reluctantly, and Oliver wondered if most of her emotion came from the fact that she hadn’t seen this particular son in over a year. Whatever the case, he politely turned away as she wiped her tears away. 

“Bill and your father are with him now,” she told Percy quietly. “Everyone else is in bed. Your old room is ready for you; I’m sure you remember the way…”

“I do, thank you, Mum.” Percy gave her a small smile, then motioned for Oliver to follow him. “Is there another bed for Oliver…?”

“We have a cot,” Molly answered, looking at Oliver apologetically. “I can look for an air mattress, but I honestly don’t know  _ where _ Arthur’s put it—”

“That’s all right!” Oliver reassured her quickly. In all honesty, he was tired enough to kip in the stairwell. “I’d even take the sofa if I had to, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Definitely  _ not _ .” She looked appalled at the very idea of making a guest sleep on the sofa, and Oliver smothered a smile. Then her face softened, and she patted his shoulder affectionately. “And call me Molly, dear.”

Then he noticed that Percy’s fingers were outstretched, his hand hovering near Oliver’s arm; Oliver lifted his arm so Percy’s fingertips made contact, and the red-haired man curled his fingers around Oliver’s bicep. 

He leaned towards Oliver’s ear. “I’ll sleep on the cot,” he whispered. “And don’t argue, because you drove all night.”

Affronted, Oliver opened his mouth to do just that—there was no way he was kicking Percy out of his bed—but a yawn interrupted. Smirking, Percy tugged on his arm and led him into the house after bidding Molly goodbye. 

Percy’s bedroom was on the second floor. There was, in fact, a cot next to the bed on the far wall, but there wasn’t much else in the way of decoration. It didn’t surprise Oliver, though; Percy disliked what he called “meaningless trinkets.”

Ready to finally rest his head, Oliver made a beeline to the cot—but Percy threw out an arm to stop him. “Take the bed,” he insisted. “I’m going to see if Mum will take me to Fred… I don’t intend on sleeping just yet.”

It was the worry lining Percy’s face that convinced Oliver not to argue. With little hesitation, he walked over to the taller man and wrapped him tightly in a warm hug. 

“Take care,” he muttered into Percy’s neck. Then, remembering that he hadn’t showered since the previous morning and that he probably reeked, he stepped away sheepishly. 

Percy’s lips were pressed tightly together, and Oliver realized that the other man was trying to hold back tears. 

“Thank you,” was all Percy said before he left the room. 

After standing there for a few moments more, worrying about the man who’d come to mean so much to him over such a short amount of time, Oliver collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to shower first, undress, or even climb under the blanket. Within seconds, he was fast asleep.

* * *

It was odd being back in his childhood home, but it was even odder to realize that Oliver was sleeping in his bed. 

But that concern was at the back of Percy’s mind; he was almost completely focused on getting to Fred. His heart pounded painfully—guiltily—as he thought of his little brother in a hospital bed. There were… no words to express his regret. 

He’d iced the twins out; he knew that. He’d own up to that in an instant. But his pride had nearly cost him his relationship with his brother. What if Fred hadn’t survived the crash? Percy shivered at the thought. He  _ needed _ to see his brother. And then—then he could apologize to the rest of the family for being so stubborn. 

Minutes after leaving his room, Percy found himself outside of Charlie’s bedroom door. His fingertips traced over the wood of the door, so familiar and so strange at the same time, and then mustered up the courage to knock. 

He heard the door open, and then Charlie’s groggy voice washed over him. 

“Percy? You’re not supposed to be here. Not for another few hours, anyway—Bill said you had to drive here.”

“And I did,” Percy answered him, a touch impatient. “Please, Charlie, can you take me to the hospital? To—to Fred?” 

“Perce—” 

“Please.” Percy could hear the desperation in his own voice, and though he hated showing that weakness, it couldn’t be helped. “Charlie, I’ve messed up this past year, all right? I’ve… I have to fix things.”

A rough, calloused hand fell on Percy’s shoulder. “Okay,” Charlie said, “okay. Just let me grab my keys.”

The wonderful thing about Charlie, Percy reflected once the two brothers were on the road, was that he asked few questions and got down to business.

Unfortunately, he did like heart-to-hearts.

“So… you said you drove here. Mum mentioned a guest. Friend of yours?”

“Roommate.” Percy’s reply was short, and his lips pressed together after he gave it; he knew where Charlie’s line of questioning would lead… and though Charlie’s assumptions were technically correct, he didn’t want to be interrogated.

“Ah, a  _ roommate. _ ”

“Bloody hell, Charlie, shut the fuck up.”

The answering chuckle was just as infuriating as Percy remembered. Thankfully, they arrived at the hospital soon after that. Bill greeted them, his voice a little strained, and most of his words just washed over Percy—but a few got through. 

His arm would be fine. Fred was weak and tired, but would make a full recovery. 

The relief Percy felt was immense, and he thought he might collapse from the weight of it. He was led to Fred’s bedside, his hand clamped firmly around Charlie’s bicep. Finally, Charlie guided him gently through a doorway and muttered, “This is it, Perce. He’s awake.”

Percy shuffled out of the way so Charlie could close the door, leaving Percy alone in a room with a brother he barely knew. He shuffled in place, nervous. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no words were forthcoming. 

“The bed’s about ten steps forwards. Three to the left. No furniture in your way.”

Fred’s voice—weaker than Percy was used to hearing—startled him. Slowly, Percy extended his cane and followed his brother’s instructions. He didn’t stop until his shins hit the edge of the bed. 

“How are you feeling?” His voice was stiff and quiet, and there was a soft huff from the bed. 

“About as well as you’d expect, I reckon.” 

Percy flinched. “Fred, I… I…” He swallowed thickly. His hands were shaking. “I was so afraid.”

Silence. The weight of it filled the room, choking Percy, as he waited for some sort of response from his brother. He’d take anything: yelling, a whisper, a sardonic laugh— _ anything _ . 

“I was scared, too.” The admission was soft, almost reluctant. “Not of the accident. Well, yes because of the accident. That was terrifying. But I thought—I thought you might not come.”

Guilt seized Percy’s chest, making it hard to breathe. But as much as that statement  _ hurt _ , as much as he felt he deserved it, he was angry that Fred had believed it. He was angry that this was entirely his fault in his brother’s eyes, that it was only his mistake. He hadn’t single-handedly destroyed their relationship. He wasn’t the only one who had to apologize. 

He had to be the one to start, though—but that logic would only come to him later. 

“Of course I’d come!” he snapped, but his voice wavered. His hands clenched into fists, and he wasn’t sure if they were trembling because of how tightly he curled them or because of the despair he felt at Fred’s words. “How could you even  _ think _ that I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know!” Fred shot back hotly, and even though this situation was horrible, Percy was glad that Fred’s quick temper hadn’t died. “You left home, and it was like you’d disappeared off of the face of the earth. You were just  _ gone _ . And you never said why.”

Percy hadn’t come to argue. He really hadn’t. But old habits die hard, and Fred knew exactly which buttons to push; they fell back into the same pattern, just like when they were kids. 

“‘Why?’ All you ever did was tell me that I was boring, or dull, or uptight—why wouldn’t I want to get away from that? Why would I want to continue  _ hearing _ it?” He folded his arms angrily, frustrated that he felt like his eighteen-year-old self again, self-esteem diminished and about to enter a world he needed to  _ prove _ he wasn’t too weak to handle alone. 

“You always managed to make me feel like shit,” he continued in a whisper. “And—and I love you, I  _ do _ , but I couldn’t live my life that way.”

For several tense moments, neither man spoke. It was so odd how they were still doing this, how they could never be their best self around the other. It was pathetic, Percy thought with no small amount of self-disgust. Absolutely pathetic. 

And yet, getting the words off of his chest had been so vindicating. 

“I never meant it seriously,” Fred told him with a small cough. “You have to know that, Perce. You’re bloody brilliant, even if you can be a prick. And don’t give me that look, we’re Weasleys, we’re all pricks.”

Well, Percy had to concede that point. 

“You always held yourself above us, you know? Genius of the family, and you knew it. You clung to it. It was annoying. And impossible to live up to.” Fred paused, and then spoke again in a voice more tortured than Percy had ever heard in his life. “Mum and Dad were always so  _ proud _ of you.”

Percy sucked in a breath. All these years… in all these years, he’d never once considered that his brothers’ teasing could have come from a place of jealousy.

All of his anger suddenly felt so pointless. 

“I…” Percy ran his hands through his hair, angling his head back as he exhaled shakily. “I always wanted to fit in like you do. It’s so effortless for you, making new friends—making people like you—but it’s almost impossible for me.”

He didn’t know how else to say it, even though the words fell short. Percy bit his tongue and tapped his cane against the floor, something he did when anxious. He tongue felt heavy with all the words he’d left unspoken over the years, but he knew that he couldn’t hide from Fred any longer. He was twenty-six for goodness’ sake; it was time to grow up.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he whispered, breaking the silence.

A broken sob escaped Fred’s lips. “I’m glad you’re here.”

And somehow, that was that.

* * *

“So, let me get this straight.” Fred’s voice was filled with glee as Percy scowled from one of the chairs at his bedside. Bill and Charlie had come to keep Fred and Percy company, but they—very unfortunately—brought the gossip with them as well. “Percy has a boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Percy insisted fruitlessly. “He’s my roommate and a good—a good friend. He offered to drive me here when we found out you were hurt, so  _ don’t you dare give him a hard time— _ ”

“He’s a football player,” Bill interrupted as Charlie and Fred burst into laughter. “Very fit. You’d like him, Fred.”

“Bring him here, then!”

Not if Percy could help it. “Absolutely not. I actually want him to go on that date with me—you lot will just scare him away.” 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Percy realized his carelessness. The laughter suddenly ceased, and he could feel three sets of eyes burning into him. 

“Never mind,” he said quickly, before any of his brothers could respond. “Forget everything I just said.” 

“Not a chance,” breathed Fred. “This is the best get-well present I could have asked for. I must insist that you bring Oliver here so I can scope him out.”

Percy groaned. “Fred,” he said stiffly, “you don’t need to do that.”

“We’ll bring him,” Bill declared. “He seems like a nice bloke. Has spent most of the day sleeping, granted, but—”

“He was driving all night,” Percy defended hotly. He wasn’t about to let them make fun of Oliver for doing something nice. “And he was already exhausted from practice.”

Charlie’s booming laugh filled the room, and Percy was suddenly hugged to his brother’s side. “What’s he like, then?”

Memories flew through Percy’s mind: broom bristles against his leg as Oliver danced around their kitchen, the off-key singing to  _ We Are the Champions _ , the feel of calloused fingers squeezing his hand in silent comfort…

He felt his face warm. “Find out for yourself,” he replied, which was, in hindsight, the wrong thing to tell his brothers. The Weasleys were a nosy, overprotective bunch. 

He’d practically thrown Oliver to the wolves, and Percy wondered if leaving Oliver alone in the house with his parents, Ron, George, and Ginny had been the best move after all. Suddenly, Percy was anxious to get home. 

“I should get going,” Percy announced, getting to his feet. 

Someone ruffled his hair, and Percy guessed it was Charlie. “Gotta save your man from Mum, eh?”

Percy grumbled as his brothers burst into another chorus of laughter. While this used to incite white-hot rage within him, though, now there was only a mildly-annoyed fondness. He almost liked the idea of his brothers speaking with Oliver, like the other man was—

No. No, Oliver was his roommate, his friend, his maybe-future-boyfriend. If he ever became part of the family, it wouldn’t be for a very long time. 

Percy banished those thoughts from his mind as he let Charlie lead him back to the car. 

They were back at the farmhouse half an hour later. Percy walked through the door and was immediately overwhelmed by the smells of dinner cooking. The bustle of people was achingly familiar, and Percy smiled softly as he listened to his brothers busy themselves with the dinner preparation. Well—almost every brother. He had a feeling that Ron was hiding in his room, most likely with Ginny. 

Some things never changed. 

Percy excused himself from the chaos and walked up the stairwell to his room. He’d spent more hours at the hospital than he’d realized, and although Bill had brought up food to the room, he was still starving. Nevertheless, he wanted to wake Oliver. 

He entered the room quietly, and the sounds of Oliver’s deep and steady breathing washed over him. He wrinkled his nose as the smell of stale sweat filled his nose, but it wasn’t as off-putting as he’d expected it to be. Percy dragged his feet to the bed, using his cane just in case Oliver had tiredly thrown his clothes to the ground. 

Percy reached out tentative fingers and shook Oliver’s shoulders firmly. “It’s supper time,” he murmured as Oliver’s breath hitched. “You might want to take a shower; you reek.”

“Charming,” was Oliver’s muttered response. And then, a little louder, “I slept all day?”

Percy hid a smile. “I assume so.”

The mattress creaked as Oliver sat up and stretched. “I feel like I could sleep another twelve hours,” he admitted to Percy. 

Percy felt like he could sleep that long, too. “Let’s eat a quick dinner and then go to sleep,” he suggested. “My mother… she might worry if we don’t eat.”

Oliver made a pleased sound in the back of his throat. “Sure does smell great.”

They made their way down the stairs after Oliver took a quick shower, and Percy tried to ignore the way Oliver’s fingers brushed against his.

* * *

Dinner went by with… minimal mortification. Ron dropped his fork onto his plate when Bill introduced Oliver to the family as Percy’s boyfriend, but other than that, the meal was fairly uneventful. Oliver was animated, keeping up easily with the conversation. He set the rumors straight quickly, but Percy was fairly sure that everyone at the table could pick up on the truth behind their relationship. 

Percy could live with that, though. 

When the two retired for the evening, though, they remembered the problem at hand: There was only one bed, and neither man fancied sleeping on the cot. 

Any other night, Percy would have insisted on taking the cot, or maybe even going downstairs to sleep on the sofa. But he was exhausted, and the last thing he wanted was to get in a fight with Oliver over the sleeping arrangements. 

He stifled a yawn and asked, “Do you roll in your sleep?”

The answer was no, so five minutes later, the two were awkwardly lying side-by-side in the bed. Percy was acutely aware that Oliver was centimeters away from him, but as terrifying as it was… it also felt comforting to have someone so close to him. 

He shivered. Is this what growing close to someone felt like? 

“How’s your brother?”

Oliver’s whisper cut through the silence of the room. Percy exhaled slowly, trying to sort through his many, many complicated emotions. 

“He’s going to be okay,” Percy answered eventually. “He’s tired, but still cracking jokes. George has been staying close to him. He’ll be supervised a little longer, to make sure there’s no lasting damage.”

“Mmm.” The mattress creaked as Oliver rolled over. “Nobody should have to go through something like that.”

“Yeah.” Percy’s voice wobbled, and he cleared his throat. “I really appreciate you driving me here. I can’t… I can’t thank you enough.”

“Hey, I’m happy to do it,” Oliver assured him. “Whatever you need… I’ll help you.”

Percy breathed in deeply as he let those words wash over him. Receiving help—especially  _ emotional _ help—had never been his strong suit. It was difficult for him. But the way Oliver offered it, expecting nothing in return… 

He didn’t have the words to express his gratitude, so he boldly skimmed his fingers over the mattress until he found Oliver’s hand. Bracing himself for potential backlash, he laced their fingers together and squeezed. 

Oliver just squeezed back, and Percy felt himself relax.

* * *

The next morning, when Percy woke up, he wasn’t alone in bed. And he didn’t hate it. 

Hair tickled his face, and he realized with a jolt that Oliver was using his chest as a pillow. Percy let himself feel surprised for a moment before he melted into the embrace, warm all over. 

Several minutes passed before Oliver began to stir. He groaned and stretched, his knuckles accidentally brushing against Percy’s chin as he did so. The mattress creaked as Oliver shifted, and Percy missed his weight when he sat up. 

“Mmm, my neck hurts,” Oliver informed him, his voice groggy with sleep. “I thought you said this was a good idea?”

Percy let out a quiet scoff. “I couldn’t anticipate your sleeping habits,” he retorted. 

Oliver chuckled in response. He squeezed Percy’s bicep gently, then murmured, “I’m going to go shower, if that’s all right with you. Your mum mentioned last night that there were some extra toiletries in the bathroom.”

Percy nodded his head in agreement, and Oliver slid out of bed. Before the bathroom door could close behind him, though, Percy licked his lips and stopped the other man. “Are you still on for that date when all of this is over?”

“You kidding?” Barely contained glee was evident in the footballer’s voice, and it was  _ contagious. _ “I can hardly wait.”

Percy’s shy grin only overtook his face when he was sure the bathroom door had closed. 

After a few more minutes in bed, Percy slipped out from under the blankets and made his way downstairs. He didn’t bother getting dressed; he’d grown up with these people, and Oliver was used to seeing him in his pajamas. 

“Percy! I’m glad to see you’re up, dear.” He was enveloped in his mother’s warm embrace. She smelled like cinnamon, so he had a feeling that she was busy baking something for breakfast. It was bittersweet; the hug reminded him of happier times, when he’d still been in full contact with his family. The realization that he’d missed his mother’s affection made him hesitant to return it; he was filled with guilt at the knowledge that he would be leaving again soon. 

And though he could promise himself to do better, he knew that the odds of that statement coming true were slim. Still, he needed to make the effort, so Percy brought his hands up to rest on her shoulders. “Good morning, Mum,” he told her. “Something smells good.”

“That’ll be the cinnamon rolls,” his mother told him, confirming his suspicions. “I was hoping to bring some to Fred today.” She paused for a moment and Percy could sense her disapproval. “I’m not sure  _ what _ they’ve been feeding him.”

Smothering a smile, Percy pulled away from his mother and went to sit with the rest of the family. He heard someone—probably Charlie—using the kettle for tea, the sound of boiling water almost drowned out by the early-morning chatter of the Weasley clan. 

At the kitchen table, Percy caught up with some of the siblings he hadn’t had much of a chance to talk to yet. He kept everyone at arms’ length, but tried to make an effort to fill them in on the changes in his life. 

Of course, that brought up the topic of Oliver Wood.

“Ah yes,” his father said when Percy mentioned his roommate’s name. “You two are dating, aren’t you?”

Percy opened his mouth to correct Arthur, but Bill spoke before he got the chance. “They’re going on their first date after they get back home.”

“Is that so?” His father’s voice was filled with excitement, and though Percy itched to point out that a date didn’t guarantee that they’d begin dating, he couldn’t bring himself to contradict his father. 

“We are,” he confirmed quietly, hoping Oliver wouldn’t mind that he’d spilled their plans. 

“He’s right! And I, for one, am looking forward to it.”

Percy started, caught off-guard. He hadn’t expected Oliver to be down so soon. He tried to keep a smile off of his face as Oliver pulled out the chair beside him and sat down—Oliver made him  _ giddy _ , he realized with horror. How embarrassing. 

“I hope you two have a great time,” Arthur told them sincerely. “Oliver, I’m sure half the family has already said this, but thank you so much for driving Percy here. I know it happened very suddenly.”

His father didn’t say as much, but Percy could hear the strain in his father’s voice. Both of his parents hid it well, but he knew that those first few hours of uncertainty had been terrifying for them—it had been terrifying for all of them. Clearly, though, his father was having a little trouble getting over that scare. 

“It was no problem,” Oliver assured him. “Thank you for allowing me to stay.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” Arthur told him warmly. “The more the merrier! This house just isn’t the same without people in it.”

Guilt settled over Percy heavily, even though he knew that the blame didn’t rest solely on his shoulders. Every Weasley child had moved out by now, but Ron and Ginny, Percy knew, were the only frequent visitors. 

“You and Mum should come by the flat sometime, Dad.” The words were tumbling out of his mouth before he had a chance to analyze them. It was too late to take them back now; he prayed that Oliver wouldn’t mind the invitation. “There’s no reason for you two to spend all of your time here.”

“You wouldn’t mind that?” There was an unmistakable eagerness in Arthur’s voice. “Your mother and I would be happy to drop by sometime… it’s been a while since I’ve been to London…”

“Oh, you should definitely stop by!” Oliver exclaimed excitedly. “Percy keeps it in perfect order; my mum would be shocked that a flat inhabited by me was so tidy…”

That elicited a laugh from the whole table, and Percy smiled affectionately in Oliver’s direction. Nothing— _ nothing _ —had prepared him for the warmth that spread through his chest. 

He was in uncharted territory. A sudden question flew through his mind, unbidden: Did he want this? Did he want to be vulnerable around Oliver, to open up to someone and risk getting hurt?

Then he thought about calloused hands, rumbling laughs, terrible singing, and early-morning dance routines—now that he has it, he doesn’t think he could live without it.

“I like him,” Bill whispered in Percy’s ear during the breakfast meal. “Hold on to him. He makes you happy.”

A flush colored Percy’s cheeks and ears at the words, and he pretended to be annoyed as he swatted Bill’s long red hair away from where it was tickling his neck. All the while, though, he was hiding a smile. 

The rest of their impromptu visit went very well. Fred grew more and more restless each day, still in pain but eager to be out of the hospital. He was recovering well. Soon enough, Percy decided that it was high time to return to London. 

By extent, it was high time that he and Oliver had some alone time. The drive home from the Burrow was filled with much lighter conversation than the drive there had been, and though Oliver still drove the many hours himself, Percy made sure to keep him entertained throughout the ordeal. It was still so overwhelming to realize that someone cared enough about him to make this trip, and he really appreciated it. 

Especially since Oliver had had to borrow Charlie’s spare shirt and pants while Percy’s mother washed his football clothes. 

It was late in the evening when they finally arrived back home, and both men were too exhausted to suggest going on their date that night. Percy mumbled another thanks before they both headed off to bed, which Oliver—predictably—waved off. As he settled into bed, Percy was struck by how odd it felt not to be sharing it with Oliver. 

Nevertheless, sleep soon took him.

* * *

It was a week later that they were finally able to go on the long-awaited date. 

It was a very casual affair; they went for pizza. Oliver, Percy discovered, was a complete barbarian who ordered pineapple on his slice. Percy still kissed him at the end of the night. 

“Tonight was… wow.” Oliver’s voice was breathless as the two walked through the cool night back to their flat. “Better than I thought it could be. And my expectations were high.”

Snorting, Percy adjusted his scarf around his neck. “Is that so?”

“Mmm. The night’s still young, you know—we could watch a film or something. Eat the cake your mum sent with us.”

A grin tugged at Percy’s lips as the wind ruffled his hair. Despite being taller than Oliver, he was comfortably leaning into the other man as they walked, Oliver’s arm resting across his shoulders. It was safe… nice. “Cake is my weakness,” he acquiesced. 

“You know, I had a feeling it would be.” Amusement tinged the other man’s voice, and Percy didn’t even mind that he was being teased. “I just know you that well.”

Percy raised a brow, but he didn’t try to dispute his boyfriend’s claim. There would be plenty of time to get to know Oliver later. Right now—he was going to focus on  _ right now. _

Unlacing his fingers from Oliver’s, he trailed his fingers up Oliver’s arm and chest until he was cupping the other man’s cheek. Then, slowly, he leaned forwards and pressed his lips to Oliver’s. 

And Percy knew, in that moment, that his life was changing—for the better. 

When they arrived back at their flat, they did watch a film. Percy listened to the dialogue intently, laughing when Oliver clumsily tried to narrate what the characters were doing. It only confused Percy further, but he didn’t mind; he was happy just to sit with Oliver. 

Finally, the two said goodnight. Percy, grinning, went into his room to undress. Before his head hit the pillow, though, he sent a text to the group chat that he’d long since abandoned. 

_ We had a nice night. _

Fred’s reply came first:  _ About time. _

Smothering a smile because Fred was right (though he’d never admit that out loud), Percy shut off his phone after sending an affectionate  _ shut up. _ He’d see what his other siblings had to say in the morning. 

And then he fell asleep, a little more open to the world and feeling very, very lucky that Oliver was in it.

**Author's Note:**

> Just to be clear... I'm totally on Oliver's side when it comes to pineapple pizza. ;)
> 
> Find me on Tumblr (moonythemarauder1), even though I... have been too busy to post anything yet, oops. Feel free to send in requests there, though, or poke me about updates. I'll also be posting a few story sneak peeks. Or, you know, come to chat. XD


End file.
